


The End and everything After

by LRoge



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 07:49:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LRoge/pseuds/LRoge
Summary: Everything that happens after the Notpocalypse starting with the bus, and ending at the Ritz. Crowley and Aziraphale discuss their relationship and where to go from here, as I see it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	The End and everything After

**Author's Note:**

> At the end I included a one shot scene I had posted to facebook, as an added bonus!

Crowley had offered, “You can stay at my place. If you like.”

Aziraphale had turned him down out of habit, mostly. What would the other angels think? Visiting the abode of a demon? Overnight? Scandalous! 

But Crowley did have a point; neither of them having a side anymore. What difference would it make now? He had nowhere else to go now that the bookshop was destroyed. 

Although he could access money which left other alternatives open to him; none of them very appealing. And he wanted to talk to Crowley about the last prophecy left by Agnes Nutter, and what they would do. 

Soon they were aboard the nearly empty bus. Crowley slouched in the first front facing seat, extending his legs into the aisle. As he ushered Azriphale to the inside seat, his expression behind his sunglasses unreadable, he reached for the angel and their fingers intermingled. Aziraphale’s face went red and his body tensed, yet almost unwillingly their hands adjusted until they were fully intertwined. Aziraphale didn’t know what to do - so he did nothing - not letting go of Crowley’s hand. It was actually a bit comforting, he thought. He detected a small trace of a smile appearing on Crowley’s lips. Crowley exhaled sharply, almost laughingly. Aziraphale chose to ignore it. 

“If I were to stay at your place...what would that be like?” Aziraphale carefully ventured.

“Well, angels don’t need to sleep right? Good ever vigilant? What do you usually do all night?” Crowley asked.

“Usually, I make myself a cup of cocoa, and I read a good book. Sometimes if there’s a chill, I make a fire in the fireplace and I sit beside it, and read until morning. It’s very nice, but wasteful if the weather is mild,” Aziraphale said brightly. He pictured the cozy little fireplace and his flat above the bookshop with a pang of loss.

“I don’t have any books,” Crowley said flatly. “I might find you a magazine, but you could miracle a book if you don’t mind attracting_ their _attention. They probably won’t care much, as they’ll be planning what to do with us anyway.”

“I haven’t got any cocoa either, but I could make you some,” he added.

Aziraphale grinned at the offer, glancing furtively at Crowley. Crowley released his hand. He seemed to be staring blankly at him. Azriaphale searched him for a reason. Behind those dark glasses, one could never be sure.

“Actually,” Aziraphale continued, “ if it’s been a busy day, I like to take a bubble bath at night. I often read my book for part of the night in the bath, and then have a cup of cocoa. It’s very relaxing.”

“Do you?” Crowley smirked. “Candles and lavender bath salts?”

“Bergamot and lemon balm, but yes.” He looked forlornly out the dark bus window.

“What do you do all night?” Better bring conversation back to the matter at hand, he thought, since he still didn’t know where he was going to go. As he thought this, he realized he was hoping Crowley would convince him to stay at his apartment. He shuddered to think he’d already decided he would go with him, if Crowley said nothing terribly offensive in the next few minutes. 

“I’ve gotten in the habit of sleeping at night,” Crowley said, “though I suppose you could say it’s sleeping in the morning. Not every day, but a couple times a week. Usually have a beer and put on a record and nod off.”

“I’ve never been asleep.”

“It’s nice. You’d like it. The waking is an annoyance though.” Crowley caught Aziraphale giving him another pensive glance. 

“Look, you don’t have to be nervous about coming over,” he said. “There are no black candles and pentagrams; no goat’s blood on the walls. I’ve been to the bookshop a number of times, haven’t I?”

“That’s different, it’s a place of business.”

“Hardly,” Crowley barked, and they knew it was true since Aziraphale closed the shop whenever he felt like it and discouraged buyers more often than not.

“And I’m not _ nervous, _” Aziraphale added, as Crowley, a moment later started to say, 

“It’s nothing you don’t want, angel. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

Aziraphale wondered what to make of that at the same time he was wondering if Crowley believed him about not being nervous. 

Crowley added, “Anyway, according to Agnes Nutter’s prophecy we’ve got to answer to Heaven and Hell for our crimes. Can’t have you spending the night in a London coffee shop waiting to get pickpocketed or stabbed.”

“Yes, what do you make of Agnes’s final prophecy?” Aziraphale glanced around, keen to discuss it, but not too publicly. He leaned forward in his seat a little bit and lowered his voice. “What faces should we wisely choose, do you think?”

“I think that will depend on our expectations for tomorrow,” Crowley appeared to be staring past Aziraphale, or at him, he couldn’t tell, with a faint smirk. “And whether or not we plan to survive past it.”

“Well,” said Aziraphale, with a slight smile. “At least there will be a tomorrow.”

When the bus arrived in London, it pulled over in front of Crowley’s building where there was no bus stop and let them off. Crowley lead Aziraphale into the upscale flat he did very little to take care of. Once he opened the door Aziraphale was confronted by the awkwardness of having never seen where Crowley lived before, and also by realizing it wasn’t that different from what he expected. Except for, 

“Hey, why don’t you just go in there,” Crowley said suddenly gesturing down a hall in the opposite direction of the lounge and the kitchen and another room opposite. “You’ll find everything you need. Guest room's at the end of the hall and what not. I’m just going to check on my houseplants.”

“Houseplants?” said Aziraphale, surprised.

“Yeah.” Crowley’s voice hardened. “They better not have let themselves go.” He stalked off toward the office. 

Opposite the guest bedroom Aziraphale found a bathroom with candles lit and a steaming hot bath drawn. There were fluffy white towels and a robe laid out already for him, and a fat leather bound Dickens novel beside the tub. 

“Ahh,” he grinned with delight to see what Crowley had thoughtfully miracled there for him, and inhaled deeply the scented bath salts as he started to disrobe.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

“That was very nice of you,” Aziraphale said when he later appeared in the lounge of the flat. He was wearing the robe over a neat cotton set of pajamas that would have been fashionable in the 1820s he had miracled himself. Crowley was sprawled across the white leather couch listening to some bebop record Aziraphale didn’t recognize.

“Right,” Crowley muttered dismissively. “Don’t get many guests. Make yourself comfortable.”

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” Aziraphale continued. “It was very relaxing… and _ homey _.”

“What, make you comfortable? You’re surprised I’d be a good host and take care of my guest?”

“What’s gotten into you? You’re behaving very strangely.”

“No I’m not.” Crowley stood abruptly. “Well, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, angel.”

“Wait! What about, choosing our faces wisely?” Aziraphale called after him as he walked out of the room. Crowley re entered almost immediately.

“I almost forgot your cocoa,” he said, carrying a steaming hot oversized mug of fancy hot cocoa with chocolate shavings on top of a layer of frothed milk. Aziraphale beamed with joy, then tried to recover his dignity while Crowley handed it to him, smirking. Had he licked his lips? Oh, the angel hoped he hadn't but he most likely had. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. Aziraphale cleared his throat, “uh, Agnes nutter’s prophecy. Shall we? Discuss it.” 

“Uhh, sure?” Crowley said, sitting back down on the couch.

  
  


Later that night Crowley was awakened by Aziraphale politely coughing lightly whilst standing in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Excuse the interruption.”

“What?”

“Are you asleep?” Aziraphale asked.

“What do you _ think _? I’m talking to you. You’ve woken me. Don’t you know how sleeping works?” The words were shouted into his pillow without Crowley looking up or moving from where lay face down on the king sized bed.

“I’m ever so sorry,” Aziraphale stated in the tone of exemplary politeness the British use when they have to say something they don’t mean at all. Knowing Aziraphale, he probably genuinely meant it, Crowley thought. 

“What is it?” 

“I was wondering, if you wouldn’t mind some company?”

“Again, that’s not how sleeping works!” Crowley shouted, and then turned over onto his back. Azriaphale noticed that Crowley slept in black silk pajamas. A blanket, black, of course, obscured most of him.

“I know, I just… don’t want to be alone. Thinking about tomorrow, or the next day, or… What might happen. What, either side might do to us.”

Crowley let out a loud sigh and then sat up in bed to face Aziraphale. Had Azriphale known the demon’s eyes glowed yellow in the dark? He must have seen him in the dark before. But without the sunglasses which he obviously didn’t wear to bed? Was that why he’d never noticed the glowing before.

“I’ll just sit here quietly in the dark reading my book. I don’t need light to read it. I won’t create a disturbance, I promise.”

Crowley sighed again, and thought how much Aziraphale reminded him of the boy Warlock when he was young. He had a fearful childlike look on his face as he stood negotiating in the doorway, like a little one who had a bad dream and wanted to get into bed with mummy and daddy. Crowley silently cursed how dear that was.

“Either they’ll kill us. Or they won’t. There are two possible outcomes, angel. Nothing to worry about.”

“But what if they’re not convinced?” Aziraphale started to enter the room, his eyes widening in fear. Crowley knew that if he continued on the subject of what Aziraphale feared, he’d actually say what was on his mind. The angel would be content to stand in the doorway and continue to talk about why he should be allowed to come into the bedroom and read in the dark. 

“What if they don’t believe me and they find us both out? If heaven finds out… what they’ll do to you.” He paused to choose his words carefully before he continued, “I’m not afraid of _ both _of us being killed, Crowley.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I’m worried about what if only one of us … survives,” Aziraphale said slowly. He shifted uncomfortably, and didn’t meet Crowley’s eyes, but the glowing added to the difficulty and awkwardness. Still, he looked around the room guility. Crowley realized the angel was near tears. "I _ don’t _want them to..hurt either of us, but I don’t want to survive, and be alone."

Crowley considered this. “Yes, that is bad. I don’t want either one, either.” he said.

"I couldn’t live with myself,” he said rather dramatically. “Especially if _ I _ failed to be convincing. But I… I don’t want to leave you alone, either, and obviously _ I _don’t want to be killed.” 

“It’s not going to happen, angel. They’re not going to notice. They don’t notice anything,” he reassured him. “You know me as well as anyone. They’re going to be convinced. And they’re not going to be looking hard enough not to be. They’re so angry at us both, that they don’t care. They believe what they want to believe. It’ll work.”

“You’re sure?” Aziraphale was still wide eyed standing at the foot of Crowley’s bed. Crowley wanted to scoff at the ridiculousness of it, but he was also touched by the angel’s innocence in pleading for reassurance. It was annoying that he looked so _ precious _standing there like an idiot. It really took every bit of his self control not groan and roll over and go back to sleep, but Crowley instead grinned sweetly at him and said, “Don’t worry about it, angel. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“May I…?” Aziraphale began, 

“Whatever!” Crowley rolled over again and shouted into his pillow.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Coffee, angel?” On the counter Aziraphale noticed a large and extravagant coffee making machine. Crowley sat before an empty table, set with two mugs, cream, sugar, and teaspoons.

“Yes, thank you, darling.”

“Darling?” Crowley’s face lit up in surprise, and delighted amusement. Aziraphale wondered he last saw the demon smile like that. He looked happier than when he made fun of heaven.

“Well, you call me angel all the time. Is it not an endearment?” Aziraphale said, suddenly stubbornly annoyed. 

“Yes,” Crowley continued grinning mischievously. “....and it’s your species.”

“You wouldn’t have me call you ‘demon’, then, so…?” 

“Call me anything you like, Aziraphale.” 

Crowley said as he poured the angel a cup of coffee. Aziraphale had no explanation, but he felt his heart skip a beat, as Crowley said his name. 

“Very well, my dear man,” he said, he muttered. He thought he’d say something nice, poliet, and a standard expression from the 1880s came out of his mouth. Those were fun years, he thought fondly. He missed his gentlemen’s club.

“Not a man,” Crowley corrected him, casually.

“My dear, _ demon, _then,” Aziraphale said, feeling like he’d been tricked into reaching a new low standard of behavior in addressing a demon this way. But Crowley’s face was absolutely aglow to hear it, as if laughing at some private joke. 

“Did you, uh, sleep well?”

"Very well,” Crowley said, although he didn’t mention that Aziraphale would know that having sat on the corner of the bed all night reading. “I know you'd probably like something to eat. I've got angel food cake, magic scones, bagels and lox, boiled eggs. Anything you'd like. "

Azriphale sat across from him. "No I couldn't possibly eat this morning. I'm too nervous about...today."

Crowley was staring intently into his face while Azriphale sipped his coffee and gazed back at the demon. Would this be the last time they'd ever see each other, he wondered. 

"It's going to be fine, angel." Crowley said to calm his thoughts. "Right. Let's give it about two hours to check up, and meet you at St. James? Sound all right? "

  
  


**Sunday afternoon, **at the Ritz

Aziraphale was speaking slowly and very seriously, which he did when he was very passionate about something. Crowley couldn’t tell you what it was. He must have spaced out at some time during the monologue, and now he’d paused. Perhaps he’d paused and noticed how intently, Crowley had been staring at him.

“Sorry, lost track of what you were saying. What was it?” Crowley muttered, trying to sound casual. 

Azriaphale’s train of thought became rushing back to him, and his face flooded with relief not to have been caught noticing Crowley staring. 

“I was saying,” he continued in the same serious tone. “This recipe was created by the chef here at the Ritz, back in nineteen hundred and-”

“I love you,” Crowley blurted. “I always have. You know that, right?” 

His face seemed to contort in shock as though the words had leapt out of his mouth without his permission. More words began to chase them in a storm of words as though attempting to rescue the original thought and bring it back. Horror flickered across his face as he heard his voice continue unable to repair the situation. “I mean, you must know it. It’s been ages. Forever. Literally since the beginning. When we first met. That’s how long I’ve… er… anyway, I'm sure I'd go to hell ...or _ worse _ for this. But for the first time hell can't do anything about it."

Aziraphale was silent. Crowley was silent. He didn’t remember everything he said. Crowley didn’t plan what he was going to do much. He never relied on plans. Not like Aziraphale did. But he never planned on this. He stared across the table at Aziraphale who had gone white. Whiter than usual. His eyes wide, and he appeared taking shallow breaths through his mouth. 

“You can’t,” Azriaphale whispered at last. His voice, when he found it, was higher than usual with disbelief. “not _ me _."

“Can’t I? What does that mean?” Crowley growled. “Think about it. You _ know _ it’s true.”

Any change in expression behind his sunglasses was unreadable, but he had turned his gaze to his plate giving Aziraphale the opportunity to notice at least a shadow cross his face, which had so recently been absorbed in staring at him. 

In a moment thousands of acts of kindness by Crowley played in his mind, and forced Aziraphale to take note of the fact that he couldn’t argue with him.

“Well, certainly, I believe you. I just, ” he fumbled, while it dawned on him that his sloppy wording could have implied all kinds of things, among them that Crowley, a demon, couldn’t love at all. “I mean, I wasn’t prepared for…”

“You _ believe _me? After 6,000 years, that’s what you have to say?”

“I...Crowley,” he began gently, in a hushed timid voice as he leaned close to the demon and continued, “the last time I complimented you, you were rather upset with me. So it is...difficult for me to find the words to describe this ...situation.”

“Situation?” Crowley hissed. 

“I _ do _ believe you. And I trust you. When everything I am tells me it’s wrong. I’m an angel and I’m not supposed to break the rules, but you can _ always _ convince me to. I don’t know _ what _ that makes me!I They have always told me you can’t be trusted.”

“Can’t trust me? I have _ never _ lied to you, angel.” Crowley was angry now.

“I know. And I can’t say the same. I’ve kept things from you. Things I’ve kept from heaven, as well. I’ve… always tried to do the right thing. But I may not have always used the best criteria to determine what is right.” Aziraphale looked guiltily down and the table, unsure what to do with his hands. He lifted a cold teacup he was not about to drink from, and set it back down again. 

“Due to recent events, and being forced to realize, and erm, deal with the fact that the angels of heaven were quite keen to destroy me for being friends with you. It’s _ quite _an adjustment.”

“Not just for being your friend.” Crowley continued to study the plate in front of him. “We stopped the war they both wanted. For the sake of humanity. Neither side could let us live, after we messed that up for them.” 

“I don’t think that ever would have happened, if you hadn’t shown me that goodness and evil isn’t the same as black or white,” Aziraphale told him, earnestly. “I owe a lot to you. The world does.” 

“Don’t try to cover for yourself,” he said sharply. “For the first time since we’ve known each other, we can be together - we can do whatever we want, whenever we want, and you still want to follow the rules but there _ are _no rules!”

“I know. But not having any rules, don’t you think it might take a little getting used to?”

“Because I go to fast for you?”

Arizaphale gave Crowley one of his pensive glances with big sad eyes and a flash of a weak, pained grin. “Something like that,” he said.

He cleared his throat and continued, “I’ve been created to believe the fallen are _ bad _. Even though I’ve only known you to be the kindest, dearest, sweetest creature, I’ve ever met in all creation. 

Crowley, I _ adore _you. But I can’t…”

“Can’t have feelings for me because I’m a demon?“

“I didn’t...that’s not what I said.”

“Can’t _ what _?

“I can’t tell you! I can’t even let myself feel it.”

“You’re not making any sense. I’m going.” He pushed back from the table and started to leave the restaurant.

“What are you doing? Why are you going?”

“Maybe I _ will _go to alpha centauri. Alone.”

“Don’t leave!”

“Why should I stay here? I would do anything for you, and you can’t even be honest with me! Goodbye angel!”

Aziraphale stood up from his seat. “Anthony Crowley!” he shouted across The Ritz. 

Crowley froze with his back to him, not daring to walk away when the angel had used his full name. Well, mostly full name. Even _ he _didn’t really know what the J stood for. Slowly he turned around.

“Don’t make a scene!” Aziraphale pleaded across the dining room. Crowley noticed that the people around them were only hearing a loud complaint voiced to a waiter about the soup. 

“I don’t care,” Crowley shouted back. He certainly wasn’t going to make any effort to disguise what was going on from the humans. “I don’t care what angels think, I don’t care what demons think, and definitely don’t care what humans think!” he turned to leave again when Azriphale's words again, froze him in place. 

“Crowley, I _ do _love you. How could you believe I don’t?” For a second the look of hurt on the angel’s face stabbed Crowley in what he thought would be his heart, but he didn’t think he had a heart. 

“It’s my nature. Angels are about love. 

I’ve been afraid… that if they found out, I’d lose you. Your side might reassign you off of earth, forever, and heaven would… They’d kill you.”

“We don’t have to worry about that now!" Crowley hissed across the restaurant as he headed back towards their table. "Both our sides believe we’re un-killable. They’re going to leave us alone. That makes us free!” 

“I’m not free, Crowley. I’m _ still _ an angel!”

“I don’t want you to stop being an angel.”

“What _ do _ you want?”

"I want you to still be you. You’ll still be good. I just want… I want to be good to you.”

“To be _ good,” _Aziraphale gushed. 

“awww don’t gloat.” Crowley groaned.

“I”m not -”

“Do you think it’s easy for _ me? _ Wanting to be good? I mean, not good all the time, just good to you. 

"It’s bad enough that instead of my own kind who might kill me at any moment without a second thought, I’d rather be with someone I trust who’s _ not _ going to kill me. Someone who I believe even _ cares _about me. That’s not very tough and demonic is it?”

“What’s so important about being tough?”

“Well demons aren’t supposed to be _ afraid _ , or even watch our backs. We’re supposed to be cold and ruthless. We’re not supposed to want to feel comfortable, and s _ afe.” _

“I make you feel _ safe? _” Aziraphale asked in a whisper of disbelief; an expression of wonder flickered in his eyes. "I do care about you, my dear. Very much."

"Wut?" 

"You said someone you believe actually cares about you, and I do! I always have. But..but I have been fighting it for hundreds, _ thousands _ of years. I was still, well _ then, _I was trying to be a good angel. But the more time we spent together the more I realized they were completely wrong about you."

Crowley looked taken aback. Like he doubted he defied heaven's definition of a demon in _ every _way. Should I be insulted by this? He thought, but then he thought of something he never told Azriphale. He’d never told anyone, really. Expect maybe a barkeep and an empty bar in the middle of the afternoon...

“One of the reasons I rebelled was I was sick of other angels watching me, eager to report any little broken rule. Instead I wind up with demons who will just kill you _ for no reason _!”

“You’re tough, Crowley! You killed another demon with holy water. They’re afraid of you.”

“Only because he came into my home with the intention of killing me! And he’s the only demon I ever killed. Other than that I never killed anybody - not really. You always thought I was capable of starting the Reign of Terror, or organizing Nazi spys! All I ever did was _ inconvenience _ people. 

I never should have fallen.

I never really turned my back on the Light, I just wanted to hang out with someone cool, and wanted someone think I’m cool. I’m a poor excuse for a demon.” He sank back into the seat opposite Azriphale at their table. He noticed the rest of the restaurant giving them their space as though they were almost invisible. 

“We do have a lot in common. I’m a poor excuse for an angel." Azriphale's face was radiating love. Crowley could barely look at him. "The Quartermaster in Heaven even said it to me when checking me in for the final battle.”

“He did?” Crowley looked up at him, the beginnings of a grin forming on his lips.

Aziraphale nodded in a pitiful childlike way. “But I, I ran away, right after that. He was frightfully upset when I showed up late to the apocalypse,_ discorporated, _ without my flaming sword. And I said I'm not fighting in _ anyone's war." _

“You _ ran _away?"

“I should have run away with you when you wanted me to,” Aziraphale grinned weakly. “Angels had threatened me, and I worried what they’d do to you with hell already after you. Instead. I ran away from heaven…. Everything you said I stood to lose for eternity -fine wine, crepes, old books, a nice cup of tea, music... I didn’t want to lose any of them.

But it was the thought... of never seeing you again...." He sighed, and let his head fall into his hands. "Angels aren’t supposed to question authority, or make decisions, but I did. I did when we made our arrangement. Because I _ wanted to. _

When I’m with you, I think differently about good and evil! What does that make me?”

“It makes you _ my _angel,” Crowley was gazing at him now, a subtle grin playing across his lips, like he thought he had proven something. Azriphale sat up to face him looking devastated. 

"Heaven doesn't think of you as a full angel anymore.” Crowley continued. “Not after today. Be an angel but be a different sort of angel.

“Now we get to decide for ourselves what’s right _ for us. _ We can do what _ feels _right instead of wondering Is this what an angel should do? Or is this what a demon would do?”

"How?"

“Aziraphale, why don’t you and I agree that when we’re together I can be a soft, doting, _ caring, _demon, And you can forget about looking after humans and be a selfish, awful, bastard.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, next time we’re having lunch if I was to take your hand, I’m not just being a pratt trying to get a reaction out of you because it’s funny.”

“And maybe next time you go to the theater, you can consider asking me? Because I enjoy the theater. You don’t have to worry that it’s setting a bad example for humans - or what other angels would think about you attending the theater with a demon."

“That is something I could do."

"We can do anything we want now. Think of it. What do you want?"

"I'd like to go back to Tadfield and check on Adam. To see how he’s coping.”

“Erm. I should, _ we _ should apologize for trying to kill him,” Crowley added.

“We could take a picnic" Azriphale's face lit up with delight. 

"We could," Crowley smiled, taking the angel's hand in his. As he did his body, which was indistinguishable from other human bodies except in that was inhabited by a supernatural being, felt an electrical shock similar to what a human would feel like if they had been struck by lightning, except he knew it wouldn’t kill him. He also felt a surge of warmth and what he could only assume was happiness. 

Crowley felt he wanted to hold Aziraphale’s hand at every opportunity for as long as creation lasted. In the back of his mind the thought vaguely presented itself that some humans might not like this, and Crowley imagined himself raining literal hellfire down on anyone who tried to stop him.

Azriphale started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?"

“This whole argument is because you didn’t get the reaction you wanted to something you said. We’re actually in agreement.”

“Well, I get to throw a fit if I don’t get the reaction I’m looking for after I wait 6,000 years to say something,” he smiled.

“That’s fair," Azriphale said. 

“What are you in the mood for now?” Crowley asked, hesitantly. “Tadfield?”

Aziraphale stared blankly for a second, seeming to collect himself. “I suppose that we could wait until Tuesday. I really must be getting back to the bookshop,” he said finally, but he still made no movement to remove his hand from Crowley’s. “But Tuesday the shop will be closed. I should...I should really be getting back there to do an inventory of what Adam has left me..”

“You don’t have to go. You could stay again. You can stay...as long as you like.”

Aziraphale grinned at him again, lovingly but concerned. “But, ...but the books.”

“I can help you with the inventory,” Crowley offered. “Tomorrow.”

“Very well then,” Aziraphale smiled. “What shall we do today?”

  
  


* * * * * * * * * * * * *

That Night

“I don’t even know if I physically can.” Aziraphale said.

“You can. You’ve just never tried.”

“Still. It’s not meant for angels. I don’t want to try. Not now. Maybe someday. But I’m not ready.”

“That’s fair. You’d like it though."

“I don’t mind if you want to. But please don’t do it for a decade at a time.”

“Would mind if I’m in here? Or you could come in the bedroom?”

“I do like knowing you’re nearby. You don’t mind the light, if I’m reading?”

“It’s a lamp. It’s barely any light at all. It won’t bother me.” Crowley said, though they both knew Aziraphale didn’t need a light to read. “Will, you think any less of me if I said I kind of like the idea of an angel watching over me as I sleep?”

“Of course not!”

Crowley grinned, “Then I’ll sleep here on the couch while you read tonight. Have you got enough cocoa.”

“I do.” Aziraphale was giving him a glowing look, love radiating out of his face. “Thanks so much for asking.”

“Shut up.” Crowley growled. He began arranging pillows and blankets from his bed, which had miraculously appeared on the couch.

Good night, angel.

Good night, my dear.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Crowley was watching with the corner of his eye a young man in the park who looked menacingly stalkerish. Jean jacket with the sleeves torn off. Combat boots. Not yet a skin head. Maybe just a sad young man who wanted to cause trouble. Crowley might have liked him in other circumstances. The young man was staring at Crowley and Aziraphale sitting on the park bench.

  
Crowley had told Aziraphale he’d do whatever he wanted that afternoon. So they’d gone to The Savoy for tea, and Aziraphale enjoyed it very much, but afterward he felt sluggish like he ate too much and wanted to go for a walk in the park. Crowley obliged him happily. Probably more so because he wanted to walk with Aziraphale arm in arm in the park on this beautiful fall day - it was sure to rain later - but also because they would catch the attention of people for being the odd couple they presented themselves as. 

Annoying people delighted Crowley, but more often than not lately he noticed perverse smiles from people or compliments on their outfits. People assumed, mostly because of Aziraphale’s clothes, they were some kind of historical recreationists. Once, a passerby remarked if they he wasn’t going to live in the modern era, fashionwise, Aziraphale should respect traditions and be ashamed to take the arm of a man in public. Aziraphale was in the process of correcting him with a lecture on male relationships in the 19th century, when Crowley hissed and stuck his forked tongue out and ended the ordeal.

Today, they were resting on a park bench after a bit of a walk around. Whilst sitting Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his, and activity he still enjoyed an almost unreasonable amount. It made him feel butterflies in his stomach and unsuitably warm in his body. He didn’t understand the thrill of it, but enjoyed inciting a riot in himself. 

Aziraphale smiled at him warmly and kissed his cheek. Aziraphale loved kissing his cheek. Crowley loved holding hands, but he, of course would deny his angel nothing.

“Are you interested in going to the theater tonight?” Aziraphale asked him.

“Maybe, but wait.” Crowley warned. “We’ve got a lurker. He’s been staring at us.”

“Oh, please don’t embarrass him,” Aziraphale begged.

“He’s to be taught a lesson.” Crowley warned.

“Oh Crowley, he hasn’t hurt us. Please be gentle.”

“And he won’t hurt anyone else. Ever.” Crowley barked. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand gently. He kept the young man in his line of sight but said nothing to him as they continued to sit side by side.

Aziraphale resigned and sighed, peacefully. “Lovely autumn day,” he commented. “Beautiful weather.”

“Going to rain later,” Crowley added. “Love the rain.”

“I know you do, my dear.”

“Oi Poofters! Faggots!” The young man shouted from behind a tree near their bench. 

Internally, Crowley sighed, a little put out by what he was about to do. The young man might have been 15 at the most. Maybe a little unsure of his own sexual identity and desires, and here he’d stumbled into insulting these two 6,000 year old entities. Crowley would have none of it though.

“Gently,” Aziraphale whispered beside him.

Crowley merely turned his head toward the young man. He lowered his head to stare at him over the top of his sunglasses. As he did his serpent eyes flashed red and remained glowing. 

Crowley smirked as the color drained out of the young man’s face and he stood frozen in horror to the spot where he stood within earshot of the angel and the demon.

“Did you say something to us, young man?” Crowley asked him pointedly, and as he did the skeleton beneath his face began to change until he had all the teeth of a lion. 

“I beg your pardon?” he asked politely while bearing the fangs of the large cat.

The young man shook his head vehemently, then, finding his feet took off running in the opposite direction leaving the contents of his bowels. 

Crowley laughed heartily.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Aziraphale admonished him.

“No, I thought I did the right thing,” he said. “The _ nice _thing. He’ll never harass anyone else. He’ll go home, sleep it off, never tell anyone, and if a few years he’ll wake up and sort himself out.”

“Well darling, I’m sure you know best.”

“I do,” Crowley assured him, then turned to kiss his angel on the cheek. “What’s playing in the west end?”


End file.
